The meeting Rupert had with Psyche previously weighed heavily on his mind. He had not been able to concentrate on any of his paperwork during the day because of it, and when Chief Edelweiss came downstairs to conduct banter with the prosecutors, he noticed that Rupert wasn't his usual focused self. That being said, it was agreed upon by both Drake and the Chief Prosecutor that Rupert should take something of a small break, or, as Drake put it: go out and stretch his legs for a tad.
Since Rupert made a habit of not returning to the same park two times in a row (and usually during the same week), he decided today that he'd take an unusually long walk to the garden nearby. Some flowers would do him good.
The smell of flowers and freshly cut grass wafted through the air as he made his way onto the grounds. He looked around and noticed immediately his arch-rival had also seen fit to stretch their legs.
The pigeons.
A look of disgust came over his face. Just what nefarious dealings were they up to in a group like that? What on earth were they planning on destroying with their furniture-ruining powers?
Rupert took his journal out and flipped through the notes for his current case. He stared at the words he usually did with the same amount of scrutiny.
'Prosecuting Attorney: Rupert Winfred Zeiss'.
He nodded. Another flip. He didn't noticed that he'd lost track of his nemesis as he buried himself in the case notes that he'd read numerous times.
It felt like he'd been sitting there for hours reflecting upon his notes and thinking about what Psyche said. Things would be different for him from now on... he could no longer avert his eyes to the goings on at Prism. It was an unsettling thought... he hoped he'd get used to it soon enough...
Just as that thought finished, a whirlwind of feathers and a cacophony of 'coo'ing could be heard. He closed the journal just in time to see that some girl had plowed right into his nemesis and they were headed his way!
Panic set in. Rupert began shaking. Thoughts of the soon-to-be ruined finely pressed suit flashed through his mind, as well as the thought of the newly ruined cravat that he'd just bought at the tailoring store down the way.
No, no, no, no, please fly overhead... no, no! Dastardly fowl, do not come near me--!
But his prayers were in vain. The pigeons flew towards Rupert. They were startled by his arm flailing, and began making trouble for him immediately. One defacated on the bench in fear, while the others merely flapped their wings and took off just as easily as they came. He dropped his journal in the commotion and stared at it with sad eyes.
A casualty had been taken, however... as the birds prepared to leave, one had dropped a farewell present on the right shoulder of his suit.